Flirting in Italian by Lauren Henderson

this summer course, made their lives a misery
, I think angrily.
But she’s met her match this time. How dare she make Kelly cry—ruin her first evening away from home?
    I stare at Elisa until she looks back at me. And then I raise my glass to her, and, just as she did, with my arm blocking her mother’s view of my lips, I mouth
“maiali”
right back at her, watching with satisfaction as she bridles in fury.
    You’ve got no idea what you’ve started
, I convey to her very clearly.
It’s war
.

I Do Not Do Megamixes
     
    “Kelly?” I push open the door of our bedroom hesitantly: it’s utterly dark and silent inside the room. “Are you all right?”
    Stupid question
, I tell myself immediately.
You’re an idiot, Violet. Of course she’s not all right
.
    “Kelly?” I say again. “We’re all going out for coffee and ice cream in the village. Leonardo and Andrea are taking us. We were hoping you’d want to come.”
    I hear Kelly shift on her bed; the springs creak a little.
    “No thanks,” she mumbles, her voice thick with tears. “I just want to be alone.”
    “Oh, come on.” I’m not sure if it’ll make her feel worse if I insist, but I really don’t want Kelly to feel abandoned while we all go out to have fun.
    It sounds as if Kelly’s face is buried in the pillow. “I just want to be alone, Violet.
Please
,” she mumbles again, so miserably that all I can do is take her at her word.
    “Well …” I hesitate. “Don’t be too upset, okay? We all think Elisa’s a total bitch and we’re not going to let her get away with it. I had a word with Paige—she’s sure Elisa tries this on every year with the girls who come on the course. She probably doesn’t like the competition.”
    Nothing but silence answers me. Kelly’s said all she wants to say.
    “Well, if you’re sure …”
    I’m desperate to rush off: I dive into the bathroom, reapply perfume and lipstick, grab my lip gloss for emergency repairs, and run downstairs again, scared that they might have decided I’m taking too long and gone without me. I’m not friends with Paige and Kendra, and I have no idea what they’re like with boys yet, whether they share well with others. They could easily have chosen to take the two boys for themselves, swept them off to the village, assured them that I’m going to stay behind and look after Kelly. I could miss out on all the fun, and they could say, wide-eyed tomorrow morning, that it had been just a misunderstanding, they’d thought I’d decided to stay upstairs with poor Kelly.
    So it’s with a huge wash of relief that I see the four of them clustered in the hallway where I left them, chatting and laughing, the American girls’ colorful print dresses standing out brightly against the white-painted walls.
    “How is she?” Kendra asks as I join the little group and we head out the front door.
    “Not great. I hate to leave her, but she said to go. WhenCatia went up before, she was crying. Catia just thinks she’s homesick.”
    “Well, we know better,” Kendra says, a martial light in her eyes. “Ugh, that Elisa
totally
needs a reality check.”
    We’re outside now, walking around the house to the parking lot; Leonardo clicks his keys and a light flashes on a small Fiat. We pick our way over the gravel—we’re all wearing sandals with heels—and climb into the car, boys in front, girls in the back.
    “We’ll get her back,” Paige hisses to me as the car pulls away. “She’s got
no idea
who she’s messing with!”
    “Shh,” Kendra says, nodding at Andrea and Leonardo in front of us: Andrea’s already swiveling around, smiling at us.
    “So!” he says, as the car bumps over the dirt road and we all squeal and hold on to each other, the seat belts ineffective against potholes. We’re all lightly tipsy on the unaccustomed wine with dinner. “We go for
caffé
and gelato, and then we go to dance?
Si?
”
    “Ooh! Dancing! Cool!” Paige says happily, and I brighten up too: